Path of destiny
by slytherin dragonlord
Summary: 1500 years after the fall of Camelot, when Merlin is called to wipe the memories of muggles involved in a death eater attack he encounters someone he'd lost hope of ever seeing again.


**Disclaimer: I don't own any characters mentioned**

* * *

Merlin sighed. It had been a long day. Two incidents of magic being used in front of muggles and rumours were just starting to spread of a death eater attack on a bridge somewhere in England right in front of hundreds more. Sometimes he hated his job in the department of magical law enforcement. He worked mainly as an obliviator and the only reason he'd taken it was that he hadn't wanted to be an auror. Running around catching dark wizards wasn't exactly the best job for an immortal warlock trying to keep under the radar and any other job in the ministry was also out of the question as the thought of staying inside an office all day made his skin crawl. Having spent the majority of his life living and working in the countryside, he still struggled to understand those who enjoyed staying inside a stuffy office.

The only reason he'd needed a job in the ministry in the first place was so he could find out the real unfiltered news about what was going on with Voldemort. Ever since news had got out about the dark lord returning, rumours and speculations had poisoned the press meaning there was no reliable news anywhere except from the source. So here he was working for authority, again.

Still, the idea of wiping a muggles memory was sometimes a concept that was hard to accept, despite doing it very often recently. To him, having grown up in a time where magic was known about and it was muggles that held power over what happened to a magic user, it was disconcerting to be manipulating their minds against their will, switching the positions of power.

Magic had been feared because of the belief that wizards could take advantage of a muggles' lack of defence and do what they liked to them. By physically changing and manipulating their minds he didn't feel like he was working against that fear.

What he did understand the necessity of secrecy though; having kept his magic hidden during the majority of his time at Camelot and going to extreme lengths to keep it that way. If magic was revealed to muggles it wouldn't be long before the fear would start to grow once again and harsher and harsher regulations would be put in place before fear and anger would turn to violence. It had happened numerous times before and the crystal of neahtid had revealed that the most likely outcome of muggles knowing about magic would be it happening again.

Over time he'd learned how to fully manipulate the crystal so that the mistakes he made in Camelot regarding his destiny would never be repeated and so far it had never failed him. Under no circumstances would he let magic be persecuted again despite the allure of the freedom they would all have if muggles did accept magic.

Suddenly, he saw a stream of silvery blue shoot through the window before forming a squirrel out of which the voice of the head of his department came. "Attack on Brockdale Bridge. Numerous muggle casualties and witnesses. Everyone who can, please apparate to the area if not there will be a floo network opening shortly near the site." With that the squirrel dissipated and Merlin groaned waving his wand to change, again, into more muggle friendly clothing. Why he even bothered changing back into wizard robes these days was a mystery with the little time he spent amongst them due to the sheer amount of incidents lately, relating to magic being used in front of muggles.

Searching his mind for the location, he was a thousand years old there weren't many places he hadn't been, he fixed it in his mind and with a snap apparated to the area.

* * *

The smell of burning and smoke was what hit him first, clinging to his skin and infiltrating his nostrils like a foul poison. Looking up he saw debris plunging into the slate water hitting the surface, droplets reflecting the fiery sky as flames began to leap up from the destroyed bridge. The remaining cars on the structure joined the debris as even more sections cracked and fell causing screams to rip through the air as people plummeted. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he surveyed the destruction and heard the cries of all those involved. Images flicked through his mind of those he'd known falling dead, being unable to save them as they were struck down, lying with pain filled eyes, screaming, reaching for him...

Taking a deep breath, he tore his gaze away looking around to see the numerous muggles, in groups, gathered to watch the destruction like a sinister firework display. Some were nursing minor injuries while others just stood in shock transfixed on the ochre, burning sky. A gust of wind blew and a chill swept across his skin making him shiver and pull his red scarf tighter as he squinted against the brightness of the flames.

Walking over to one group, he began to perform minor healing spells to the fear of the recipient's as they gazed at his wand warily. One looked up at him, he was young, the dirt on his face streaked by the tears dripping down his cheeks. "What were they? The things that destroyed the bridge?"

Merlin looked down at his lap, brow furrowed, before replying "they were bad wizards. Who want to achieve their goals through fear and violence. We're fighting against them." Nodding, the boy fell silent as Merlin performed the memory charm and sent him home.

Just as he was finishing with that group there were footsteps and he turned to see Arnold Peasegood, his co-worker, step over. "I'll finish with these," the man said gesturing to the muggles "you go over and sort any others."

Standing he nodded and moved over to the next group, feeling detached, like in a dream. He went through the same routine: heal, manipulate memories, send in the opposite direction to the disaster and repeat. It was like a never ending cycle of tortured faces as he tried to ignore the bodies bobbing face down on the river.

It was late by the time he'd almost finished, lingering light giving way to the velvety cloak of darkness as he made his way further down the cracked street to the last couple of muggles who hadn't been reached by anyone yet. He felt pity for them as they sat, eerily still, faces filled with shock as they watched the ministry workers start clearing the worst of the damage, levitating debris and removing scorch marks while the healers sorted out the worst, most horrifying injuries. None made a noise as he did what he needed to do and they were sent back to their families, memories modified with no recollection of the magic they'd seen being used, just the horror of what they'd seen.

It was only then, after the last that he could see had gone, that he let rage begin to fill him. For all his years walking the Earth this was one of the worst examples he'd seen of magic users mindlessly killing those without with no reason. Even Morgana had never killed quite as many innocents as Voldemort had during his lifetime and he was still out there free to live and keep killing while the innocent were left to suffer and grieve. It saddened him that there would always be evil people, magic and non-magic users. He dreamed of a world where all could just live in peace and be happy but he knew that it was almost impossible; it would always be a dream.

Sighing, he readied himself to apparate home back to his warm bed when he saw a lonely figure sitting down the road, a couple of metres away, on the pavement their face turned away, watching the night sky. As he walked closer he could see that they must have been a muggle that had been involved in the attack with rips and burns covering their clothing and a weary slump in their shoulders. Stepping right up to them he cleared his throat. "Hi. Are you..." he tailed off as they turned around showing themselves.

"...Arthur" he whispered staring at the familiar face sat on the cracked pavement, golden hair bedraggled, strands clumped with mud and face dirty. But it was him. Lifting his head up, Arthur stared at his previous manservant and there was a rush of energy; a magical shockwave, sparks running across the warlock's skin before a look of shock came across the King's features, his breathing quickening as icy blue eyes met warm gold. "Merlin...? What... where am I...what is this?" He leapt up, starting to back away, looking around panicked. "I...I died, I...how? Why am I here?"

Merlin stepped forward arms held out warily "Arthur, Arthur!" The man in question slowly fell silent as leaning closer Merlin wrapped his arms around him finally reuniting the two halves of a coin. Relaxing after an eternity he slumped further into the blonde's arms and, barriers crumbling, finally let tears flow. "Arthur..." he choked, "you died but our destiny, you're the once and future king. Destined to return when Albion's need is greatest. And I'm Emrys... it means immortal." Arthur drew back understanding dawning on him, tears starting to run in streams down his face. "I waited." Merlin finished a sob escaping him.

They held each other for what seemed like an age before eventually letting go still gripping each other's hands tightly as if believing that if they let go they'd lose each other again. "How long?" Arthur whispered, his voice cracking on the last word. Merlin looked away. "How long!?" He insisted scanning his friends face in sorrow.

"Over a thousand years" Merlin muttered eyes glazing and drifting away "I stopped counting after that..." Attention snapping back onto Arthur's he joked, small grin on his face, "to think you always accused me of making you wait, prat."

"Idiot," the blonde replied nudging Merlin playfully before pulling him back into a hug, squeezing him tightly. "Are you going to explain what I got thrust back here for or just keep making me cry like a girl?"

"Oh, right. Well basically there's this dark lord who wants to live forever and become the most powerful wizard to ever walk the earth..."

"So you then?" Arthur interrupted snorting slightly at the thought.

"Essentially." Merlin replied with a smirk.

"Well, what are you waiting for then, Merlin?" said the Prince accentuating the first syllable of the warlock's name before striding off back in the direction of the bridge. "Don't we have an evil wizard to defeat?"

"Dollophead..." Merlin muttered following, jogging slightly to keep up, a wide grin stretched across his face as he stared at the back of the man he'd waited for. It had been worth waiting.

 **This is my first fanfiction so please review! Constructive criticism is welcome. I think that I'm going to leave this as a one shot unless I get inspired to continue it.**


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